Pronouns
by Cherry Champagne
Summary: If it looks like a girl, acts like a girl, and sounds like a girl, can Bebe still be a lesbian? BebexMarjorine plus maybe some others.
1. Prologue

A/N: Major pot fumes in here. SR was VERY planned out, and it failed spectacularly, so I'm attempting to write with only the bare skeleton in my mind. Wish me luck.

Warning or whatever: I'm not sure, let's take this chap-by-chap, eh?

Disclaimer: No matter how many you guys ask, Matt and Trey, I WON'T take South Park off your hands. STOP CALLING ME!

PROLOGUE!

"Leopold, this is a pretty big step. Are you certain that you're ready for this?"

"Sure I am!"

"I really think it'd be best if we dealt with the issues at hand before moving on to this."

"It's not an issue!" The petite blonde was starting to feel the repetition of the conversations he and his therapist shared closing in, until soon they would be repeated the two same phrases back and forth to each other again and again in an "Are so!" "Are not!" manner. However much she disagreed, he found the subject subjective, although he understood that if the decision of classification between objecting and subjective was between the opinion of a sixteen year old boy and a doctor, his odds weren't good. So once again, loathing the sound of the same words on his voice, he gave his argument. "This is just who I am, not some mental illness or something. I feel more comfortable this way, and it doesn't hurt anything, so what's the problem?"

"In all honesty, Leopold," She leaned forward; a clean-looking thirty-something with straight black hair and emo style glasses that came together to give her a more youthful appearance than her consistently sarcastic face had and a tendency for plain turtlenecks and long gypsy skirts, her long, pale fingers looping together over her knee, "It's not up to you OR me whether it's a real issue. It's about who writes the checks." She gave him a what-are-you-gonna-do grin; showing well aligned but coffee-stained teeth.

Leopold was struck into pouty silence. By "who writes the checks," they both knew she meant his father. 

"Well, anyway, I can do just fine. Don't worry about me. We both knew I was gonna have to do this at some time, right?" He smiled, trying to give off an optimistic aura. This, if nothing else, was something he was very good at.

"Well…we could always wait another semester. I'm sure your dad would be much happier about all this if you—"

"My dad can go to heck!" And he grinned triumphantly. This was a new talent he had acquired since starting the weekly sessions three years ago; the ability to speak honestly about his father (when he wasn't in the room, at any rate. He wasn't CRAZY.)

"If you say so. Just tell him I tried, eh?"

"I will."

"We should start wrapping things up…" She stood, tall and slightly emaciated, and crossed the small room toward her patient. "Leo, beyond money and whatever, I really do like you."

"I really like you too, Dr. Kata!" Good thing, considering that over the past three years, the only one outside his immediate family he kept consistent contact with was the woman before him.

"Remember you can call me any time you need me."

"You, too."

She smiled. It was a very stupid comment, but very…Leopold. 

":Besides, what's so scary about public school, anyway?" The blonde stood, smoothed out his pale pink mini skirt, and followed his therapist out of the office door.

A/N: Please review--I understand that there's not exactly...ah...a DEMAND for this pairing, but...go to deviantart and look at sakurapanda's crap. LOOK AT IT. ;-; You can kind of get the feeling I'm aiming for, at any rate.


	2. Pink Volta

A/N: I have a bad habit of being unable to write without a song to match the mood of the fic. If you wanna know this one's, it's We Are Pilots. (Humph.)

--

Marjorine (as she was titled on the school roster,) slid out of the passenger seat of her mother's compact, fussily ran a hand across her skirt to be sure it fell correctly over her thighs, and tightened each pig tail.

"Marjorine, you're going to be late."

She had run out of filibusters already, and was now conspicuously standing behind the open door, staring off at the looming structure. It was a completely new building to him; the last public school she'd attended was the junior high section of the same system, dropping out suddenly early in his eighth year. It was his suggestion that he return to more conventional schooling; however, this didn't stop her from hesitating despite the fact that the flow of newly arrived students had trickled down to a rushed few, giving her reason to believe she was in danger of being late on her first day.

"Marjorine!" His mother insisted, breaking her from her reverie.

One last deep breath a quick "I love you" and she managed to close the door and mechanically begin the walk from the peninsula of concrete designated for drop-offs toward the side entrance, where it was typical for students to enter.

"G—gah! Jesus Christ no!"

The blonde had almost started her first day without incident, being in the process of outstretching her arm to grip the handle, when she was distracted by the call.

Coming from the direction of the parking lot, two boys had stopped not too far from where Marjorine stood. One, a fellow blonde bearing hair to compete with Sonic the hedgehog, had stopped, staring down at a capsized venti coffee laying on the concrete, shooting out its contents from the narrow hole in the lid. The other, a brunette in a tight blue ski cap, made a bitter grunt before stooping to pick up the cup about half-way through fully evacuating the liquid.

"It's fine, okay?" He pushed the cardboard cup toward his mate, who shrunk back as if he was offering him something live and rabid.

"No way, dude! It touched the ground! Who KNOWS who's peed there!?" The blonde was now in the process of tearing out chunks of his own hair.

"The SIDE of the cup touched the ground! Not where you put your mouth. Just take it!" The boy in blue thrust it forward again, this time attempting to knock him in the chest with it. Instead, the other boy went running in the direction Marjorine had come from, stumbling over both his shrieked words and his feet.

Marjorine turned away as the brunette went sprinting, dropping the coffee on the ground (tut, littering, but she supposed it was acceptable, given the circumstances,) and succeeding at suppressing a small smile of recognition. Tweek and Craig. They seemed essentially the same—it had been Tweek who had given Marjorine the idea to stunt her growth with caffeine, although he naturally seemed more inclined to grow taller than Marjorine did, still, he gave off the impression of an excitable, emaciated Chihuahua you wouldn't want on new carpet. Craig had grown to a gangly, (yet charming, in an awkward way) height, more muscled than his friend, but still no rock. What really pleased Marjorine about the scenario was that neither had recognized her. True, neither had given her so much as a glance, but still! Forty-five seconds in and incident-free. Well, if you only counted incidents that affected her directly.

With slightly renewed confidence, she picked up the cup and tossed it out in a very close-by bin, and entered the school.

The side entrance opened to the cafeteria, where many lingerers loitered (or loiterers lingered,) chatting in that fairly aggressive way most teenagers have. The majority had moved on to the adjoining halls, to lockers and first period and whatnot. From both sources, the dull roar of activity that she had grown used to only hearing in malls greeted her, an seemingly appropriate beginning for her new career of blending in with crowds rather than the scenery of her home.

She had been instructed to visit the attendance office to receive her schedule information. Now that she was inside, however, she realized, feeling rather stupid, that she had no way of knowing just where that particular office was.

"Hamburgers," she muttered lightly. Refusing to stand out and blow her camouflage so quickly, she walked in a random direction, down the largest hallway about a quarter of the way across the cafeteria. She joined a belt of fellow travelers, and conspired to follow a gigantic boy before her who effectively parted the crowd. After crossing about half the school, however, she realized his plan may be flawed in that it had no relevancy to getting her to the elusive attendance office, anyway.

"Excuse me." She felt a ginger touch on her arm and stopped. Smiling, the owner of the voice retracted her tiny hand. "Are you lost?"

She was tiny; a few inches shorter than Marjorine, and dwarfed by her curtain of Asian-black waist-length hair and the size of her thickly lashed crystal-colored eyes. Her maternal impression and pixie voice more than her appearance tipped him off to her identity; Wendy Testaburger. Behind her stood a tall girl with thick, curly blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail turned away sulkily.

"Actually, um, yes." However good she was at influencing others with her emotions, she was equally bad at hiding them. It was probably obvious from her worried expression and slightly hesitant body language that she was completely new to her surroundings. "Do you know where the attendance office is?"

"Sure! Let me walk you. Bebe, are you coming?"

Bebe Stevens, oh, of course. The blonde now turned a quarter of the way, showing her face in profile, looking bored and showing sleepy cow-brown eyes. "Um, no, I'll go on. See you." She tugged her baggy sweater down further over the waistband of her jeans and walked in the direction Marjorine had been going. He observed how she attempted to suppress the walk wider-hipped females generally used, and was forced to remember her weird body issues.

"This way." Wendy stated, smiling with plush bubblegum colored lips. She set off walking, in the stride Marjorine had emulated that first time she stood before his parent's full-length mirror—a graceful dancer kind of walk, she had designated it. "So, you're new?"

"Um, yes! I was home schooled before now."

"Really? Why is it you transferred over here?"

"Um, y'know, get the whole high school experience and…stuff…"

"Well, I'm the student president, so if you need any help, just ask me! My name's Wendy."

"Mine's Marjorine."

Something fell slightly in the consistently cheery mask over the smaller girl's face. "Marjorine? That's an unusual name…isn't it from a movie or something?" Her bottom lip pouted slightly in thought.

"…Yeah, I think so."

Wendy stopped before a glass wall intersecting the typical painted concrete blocks to show a long desk with a woman behind it. Several other students lurked inside.

"Well, here you are!"

"Thanks."

"See if you can find me at lunch, okay?"

"Y-yeah, okay, sure!"

She gave a cute wave and turned on her sandal's heel, walking at an increased pace to make up for the lost time. Obviously Marjorine herself would not be making first period on time, but also obviously, there would be no consequences.

She leaned against the wall as she waited for the other tardies to finish their business with the woman at the desk, and once the office was empty, she approached her. She was an old, stout woman who bore a slight resemblance to both a frog and a bulldog.

"Hi, I'm, uh, the new student? You were supposed to give me my schedule?" She stood pigeon-toed before her, arms clenched behind her back. She hadn't initiated conversation in so long.

"Name?"

"…Marjorine Stotch." She prayed she would be able to find here information by the name she was attempting to use to smother her old one.

She opened a file drawer, leafed around, and pulled out three sheets of paper—one flimsy sheet done in shades of grey, a poorly Xeroxed map of the school, and a page ripped carelessly from a notebook. "A note from the superintendent." She explained.

Once she memorized the direction to the first class listed on his schedule (Geometry,) she began to read the notebook sheet.

Marjorine,

Careful consideration has been done for your situation, and the following rules have been outlined. Please be sure you fully understand them, as slip-ups will not be tolerated. We respect your decision to keep your gender a secret, however, rules must be followed.

If needed, you may use the men's restroom or the nurse's restroom. Entry of the girls' restroom will be treated as would be with other males.

You may attend the woman's gym class, however, changing will be done in room F103, rather than in either locker room.

Teachers have been alerted to your decision, and have been asked to respect your wishes to be treated as a female.

Good Luck,

Superintendent Ron Ritter

Her expression reflected distaste in the obvious contempt in the note. She folded it neatly, slipped it into her pink and white tote, along with her schedule and the all-important map, and knocked on the door to her first class.

A/N: Yes! I intend to cheaply inject all of the essential characters and relate them in some way. Bwaha. I hate this chapter, it's so…"and then he walked for a while, and then he saw blah de blah, and then and then and then" but I promise there will be drama and insecurity and more characterization! Especially at lunchtime, which will probably be covered in the next chapter. Review plox? Ploxadeplox? Don't be afraid to criticize3


	3. Reintroductions

A/N: Why is Wendy such a main character? I don't even like Wendy. Sorry for the enormous introductory paragraph thurr.

---

The first half of the day ran smoothly—no teachers called special attention to her, and there was no stagnant time, so no one spoke to her, however, she didn't quite feel…unwelcome. Which meant another change; the small-town tendency for xenophobia had left at least the high school population. As far as she could recall, every new student in elementary and junior high school had been observed from afar with contempt. It took her three and a half periods to realize that she wasn't quite right there—every MALE student had been treated as such.

At lunch, she tried her best to be inconspicuous as she looped the cafeteria searching for the friendly face of Wendy. No way she was taking an empty table and risking standing out. After her third loop, once again, she felt the doll hand on her elbow, and turned to see Wendy smiling brightly, holding a paper sack decorated with flowers and flanked, once again, by Bebe, looking disinterested and holding a tray of cafeteria crap.

"We always sit over here." Wendy stated as she led the two blondes to a corner table. Several other students were already seated, having stolen chairs from the neighboring table, forcing them all in shoulder to shoulder. Wendy perched primly beside a slightly muscular brunette and gave him a flirty look over her shoulder, then turned back to her guest and patted the empty chair beside her. Marjorine obliged.

"Guys, this is Marjorine." She announced sweetly as she opened her lunch and pulled out a plastic baggy of pear slices. Marjorine gave a sheepish wave, staring down at her pink and yellow plaid thermos. "These guys are, um, this is Stan," she shrugged her shoulder in the direction of the boy beside her, who despite having grown to around six feet, still held some boyishness in the angles of his face and his cutely crooked smile, "Kyle," next in the rotation of the table, Kyle had grown into his once large but well-shaped nose and abandoned the oppressive green ushanka, letting his shorter and more tame curls show themselves, and with his old smatterings of freckles across the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones. He offered a quizzical look that wasn't a smile, but wasn't unfriendly. "Red," Red, of the people he had been reintroduced to, had changed the most—her long hair was cut into the long-in-front, short-in-back style that was popular, and her more feminine clothes had been changed for an obvious skate-influenced style. She looked tomboyish but naturally pretty without make up, her brown eyes lined with lashes that matched the hair that was her namesake. Her greeting was a short wave and a sad smile. "You know Bebe, and that's Kenny," Although Kenny still wore an orange parka, the hood had, finally, been let down. His face was, as always, beautiful, with his wide robin egg eyes slightly hidden behind his self-cut shag of light strawberry blonde hair and enthusiastic boyish grin marred with a split lip. Kenny had been Marjorine's first reason to consider boys as an alternative to girls, and seeing that shit-eating grin directed at him, she felt a pale ghost of her old feelings. "Heidi there," Heidi looked him up and down critically. Other than having her tan hair cut to her shoulder blades, she looked like a curvier version of her eighth grade self, still with the "are-you-fucking-kidding-me" expression. "Millie," Millie was even smaller than Wendy, but with more a figure, which, judging by her clothing, she wasn't shy about. Her hair was, oddly, still in the short strawberry blonde buns from third grade. "Aaand that's it!" She smiled, showing perfect dimples.

"Right. Well. Um. Nice to meet you." Marjorine smiled, shrugged, and unscrewed the top on the lid of her thermos to take a sip of strawberry milk.

"So Wendy said you were home schooled?" Heidi said. By the connotation in her voice, it was apparent her opinion on home schooling; she was searching for an excuse to designate her a freak.

"Yeah. Just for the past few years, though."

"Really? How come?"

"Um, there was an issue, it's kind of personal…mm…" She took a long draft from her thermos in hopes that by the time she was finished the subject would have changed. However, as she tilted his head back, she noticed Kenny's eyes on her, staring critically at the front of her loose white tank top underneath her pink cardigan. She was offended on two levels; one for having her chest stared at, and another for having her chest stared at with the appalled look Kenny was currently giving her. The look that said "Where are the boobs?" While her eyes were drawn in that direction, she saw that the tray Bebe had been holding was now halfway between her and Kenny, and that there were two sets of silverware stuck in the unrecognizable slop in the largest division. She considered how well matched the two were, and came up with the conclusion that they were doomed.

Behind Red a sleepy, but healthy looking brunette boy appeared and stooped to say something close to her ear. Clyde Donovan. His hair was still shaggy, but grown longer, so that he had to push the bangs aside to see properly. Red replied to whatever it was he said, and gave a vague gesture in Marjorine's direction.

The moment the dark brown eyes lifted to her, Marjorine realized the change in his face with slight panic.

Skeptical recognition.

Instantly she shoved her chair back from the table, muttering "Bathroom," and walked away briskly. However, her evasive maneuver was futile. Clyde wasn't known for subtlety. Halfway across the lunch room, he managed to catch up, so that the two were walking in stride.

"Marjorine?" He asked, his voice sarcastic but cheerful.

"Don't!" Marjorine hissed. She continued to stomp forward, and they were now in the abandoned hall. "Please don't say anything! I swear, Clyde—how did you even recognize me?" After three years, a gender identity change, and puberty, she had thought she was safe to return. Hamburgers. Crap and HAMBURGERS.

"You're using that old name. From when we dressed you up? …Why did we do that?" He appeared thoughtful for a moment, then shook away the thought. "What the hell are you even doing?"

"This is who I am now. Don't even SAY that old name anymore." Finally, feeling sufficiently isolated in a rarely used (even between classes) corner of the building with no classrooms, she stopped, standing as dominantly as she could manage, which wasn't very.

"Wait, you're a TRANNY? Did someone force you into this?"

"No! Really! I've been like this for three years. So don't screw it up for me. You can't tell ANYONE."

"Fine."

"Thanks, Clyde." She smiled warmly.

"So, dude, what's up with completely ditching all of us for like three years? You could have at least called or something, I mean, it's YOU, it's not exactly the most shocking thing ever. You didn't even tell us you were leaving."

Marjorine blushed and stared sulkily at the floor without replying. "I can't believe you recognized me."

"Why are you using that name? Somebody other than me's bound to remember."

"Nobody else has." She mumbled. "Marjorine is just…the girl I am. The only one in me. Get it?"

"No." Clyde was, apparently, still clueless.

"Anyway, you're weird for remembering something that happened for ONE NIGHT five years ago."

Now Clyde was silent and pink. "…Okay, okay, I'll keep your secret safe, let's just get back before we miss lunch."

"Okay."

---------------

Wendy, Red and Marjorine walked in the direction of their lockers after lunch together.

"Everyone really likes you." Wendy exaggerated shamelessly, but sweetly. Upon returning to her chair, she had been silent for the most part, drifting between different conversations to eavesdrop on, and made polite conversation with a gentlemanly Kyle for a few minutes, before the boys all left to go sit at a separate table, and the conversations merged into the first example of candid girl talk she'd experienced. She highly doubted they had any opinion on her whatsoever, aside from a slight nervousness.

"Yeah, I like everyone a lot too."

Conversation lagged awkwardly. And so she filled it as seamlessly as he could which, again, wasn't very. "So, Bebe and Kenny are dating, right?"

"Nooo…" Red said. Her voice had grown husky in an attractive way that suited her slightly sad appearance, but her speech retained its childish tendencies.

"Really? Does Bebe have a crush on Kenny or something?"

"Not likely." Wendy was giggling. "Bebe's gay."

Oh.

OH.

They passed her locker, and she was forced to drop the topic as she branched off from the group.

------------------

She shared History with Bebe. Casually, she took the empty seat beside her and turned in a posture that was meant to initiate conversation. However, she conspicuously diverted her eyes, pedantically tracing a pattern in the peripherals of her notebook.

"Hi!" She said, leaning in to her.

She lifted her brown eyes, smiled weakly, and returned to her concentrated doodling.

"So…how are you?"

"Fine." She didn't look up this time.

The feeling of isolation persisted for the rest of the day.

---------

"So how was it?" Dr. Kata asked as soon as he sat down.

"It was…okay." Leopold smiled, tilting his head slightly.

"Just okay?"

"Better than expected. I recognize a lot of people, and I made friends with a lot of them. Although, one of my old friends remembered me. Oh, no, he promised to keep it a secret." He added the last part in response to a worried look on her face. "Though there's this one girl who doesn't like me for some reason."

"Well, you can't expect everyone to like you."

"Yeah, but she doesn't even KNOW me."

"Hmmm. Did it bring up any old memories?"

His mouth became a hard line as he thought over the question. "No."

"Good."

------

A/N: Right…review begging and whatnot…I know this story's boring as hell so far. Need to think of drama! –headdesk- Happy 5:00 am y'all!


	4. Sugar

A/N: Gyah! Sorry. I had no idea where to go from here. Maybe one-step-at-a-time is not the way to do it? (duh.) Anyway, sorry if this sucks, I just feel like it needs CPR soon or I'll lose it forever. Thanks, Blouper, I admit I TOTALLY forgot about Cartman. XwX

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At lunch the next day, Marjorine sat next to Wendy, who was beginning to feel like her anchor to the scary new social ocean around her. Relatively soon after she pulled out her jelly sandwich, she felt someone slide in at his free elbow—Kenny. More instinctual than due to any real embarrassed or enamored thoughts, she blushed and receded slightly closer to the opposite side, where Wendy was giggling with Heidi. However, the movement proved pointless as Kenny nudged her arm in attempt to receive her attention.

"Your name was Marge, right?" He asked, smiling.

"Marjorine."

"Oh, sorry. That's a weird name. Uh. I need you to switch places with me."

Marjorine cocked her head, pink mouth set off slightly to one side.

"C'mon." Kenny patted the top of Marjorine's rump, eliciting a slight jump, which he took advantage of by sliding sideways onto the seat. Marjorine let out a pouty huff at having been bullied out of what was rightfully hers, even if it didn't matter all that much to her, and slid her lunch over to what had previously been Kenny's seat.

Oh crud. In her peripherals, Marjorine saw Bebe falter in her approach. The only seat open was the one beside her, which apparently was somehow objectionable to her. However, the hesitation didn't last long, and after a moment the other blonde took her usual seat. Kenny reached across Marjorine to grab the small cup of red jell-o off of Bebe's tray, giving her a Cheshire Cat smile, and initiated conversation with Stan across the table, freeing him of the responsibility of an explanation.

Marjorine was now isolated. Desperately, she looked across the cafeteria for Clyde, hoping maybe he would have a free seat that he could awkwardly occupy. Crud, no. It was FAR too early in her school career for confrontation.

Very soon after having that thought, she reached absentmindedly for her thermos and felt her knuckles hit the side earlier than expected, knocking it onto its side. Pink liquid splashed out, at a perfect angle to both spill over the edge of the table onto herself and Bebe.

She stood, her face exasperated but not angry, rubbing her wet jeans, while Marjorine instantly felt the heat rise in the backs of her eyes. Oh God, no, that would make the situation perfect. Just…. She felt the burning tears slide down her cheeks.

"Oh, geez…" Wendy reached into her tiny purse and pulled out a wad of napkins. Kenny, meanwhile, was stifling a smile into his spoon.

"C'mon." Bebe sighed. It took a moment of watching her back for Marjorine to realize she had meant for her to follow. Her skirt sticking uncomfortably to her legs, she followed her across the cafeteria and toward the girl's bathroom.

That didn't bode well. She paused at the entrance.

"Are you coming?" She sighed.

"Uh…yeah." There really was no other option. She walked as quickly as she could through the open doorway.

She knew what girl's restrooms looked like—everyone did—so there wasn't any real reason to react at the site of the inside. However, the behavior of the people inside varied vastly—there were girls sitting on the sinks, talking to girls crowded around the two small mirrors, girls just kind of leaning against the wall uselessly, and only one closed stall. She observed this for later use as she followed Bebe to the last stall.

Bebe pulled a roll of toilet paper from where it was sitting loosely on top of the empty dispenser and led her back to the sink, eyeing her in a way that made her feel like a clinging pet. After politely forcing herself to the front of the line, she wet a large wad and handed it to her , then wet a second, and began rubbing at her lap, looking slightly more determined than the situation warranted.

Once she finished, she tossed the wad into the can. Marjorine continued to dab at the lap of her jumper.

"…Why're you doing it like that?" Bebe asked, sounding exasperated, as Marjorine was beginning to find was her usual tone.

"Like what?"

"Like…let me do it." She sighed, took the wet paper from Marjorine, and bent down to rub hard on the stain. "This probably isn't going to come out. Do you have spare clothes here?"

"Uh…no." Her face felt warm for some reason.

"Mm. Here, take your jumper off."

Oh shit. "Um! …No…I…I can't…"

Bebe stopped wiping and looked up through her eyelashes. "Why?"

"I…just…I can't…" Because I'm a boy under these clothes.

:"…Did Wendy tell you about me?"

"What about you?"

"About me being gay."

What did that have to do with anything? "Oh…yeah, she did."

"So you think because I like girls I go around molesting them in public bathrooms after they spill shit on me?"

"What!? No! That's not it at all--!"

"Don't flatter yourself, you bitch." Bebe tossed the wad on the floor and walked out, with the eyes of all the girls who had been crowded in the bathroom wide on her back.

---

"I have no idea why she even thought that." Marjorine sighed, resting her chin on the pillow jammed between her knees and her chest.

"That's not how she usually is. I mean, she's never been all paranoid about, y'know, equal treatment and gay stuff like that." Clyde was sitting at his computer, watching something on youtube. Upset over the day's events and needing someone to talk to, Marjorine had requested they meet up after school. She now sat on his bed in a loose fetal position.

"She definitely hates me."

"Definitely."

"I wonder why."

"Dunno."

Clyde got points for even listening, but he wasn't turning out to be very helpful. Whatever. She just wanted a distraction now. "Can you play music or something?"

"Okay." Clyde clicked a few times, and a listless, mopey tune started to play.

"I don't like this." Marjorine said, scrunching her nose.

He spun in his chair. "What DO you like?"

"Umm…I like R&B and Alternative stuff sometimes, and pop…I hear a lot of stuff off the radio."

"Lame." Clyde said, raising an eyebrow.

"Let me see." Marjorine uncurled herself from the bed and leaned over Clyde to take over the mouse and keyboard of his computer. She used the youtube window he had open.

"This is actually J-Pop…" She turned the volume on the frame all the way up.

"Wow, that's cutesy."

"It's called Electro World."

"I like techno."

"Is this techno?"

Marjorine stepped back from the computer to shake her hips and rock from side to side slightly. Clyde laughed, turned the volume up on the speakers, and stood up along side her to do the same motions.

As they danced like morons, they became less self conscience, and as the song ended, and the ambience was lost, both were slightly shocked to find their rocking, thrusting hips inches apart and their arms raised as if they were strangers at a rave rather than childhood friends on a cul de sac.

"What time is it? I should get home, I didn't tell my mom I wouldn't be coming right home."

"Yeah, okay. See you at school tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Bye!"

--

A/N: Listen to this song. IT HAS POWERS OVER PEOPLE. Bah…so much left to explain later…laaaterrr…


	5. Gossip Girl

"Bebe?" Wendy laughed, hugging her books to her chest as she did so. "Why would Bebe hate you?"

"I don't know!" Marjorine sighs. She adjusted her own stack slightly. For some reason, it was socially unacceptable for girls to hold their books hanging parallel to their body on their hip, despite it being vastly more comfortable.

"Bebe can be shy around new people. I don't know why, everyone loves her—" she shook her head, like a quietly proud parent, "Are you sure she's not just being distant?"

"Positive!"

It was the second Monday Marjorine spent at school. Aside from some social anxiety caused by certain people's instant disapproval of her, she felt as if she was integrating herself well—due to her figure lacking some thickness in some places, and rusty social skills, boys had, so far, left her alone. Not that it mattered much—she was getting used to being around people, let around forming intimate relationships. Having Clyde around helped loads; they had spent most every day after school together. She felt too much pressure to behave in a likable manner around Wendy to venture inviting her to spend time outside of school together. Besides, it was nice having someone her age to talk to who knew about her situation.

The pair sat at the table, as usual, one of the last ones; Red was sitting with Clyde today.

Marjorine pondered the empty seat for a moment as she worked through her peripherals into her lunch box. She felt as if it was missing something—something that wasn't Red. Something…fat.

She made a mental note to talk to Clyde about that after school.

"Bebe?" Wendy asks, smiling her best Wendy-brand smile, which reads something along the lines "I'm adorable, but if you displease me I'll rip out your asshole and shove it down your throat". "Isn't Marjorine's hair always so cute?"

Bebe raised an eyebrow at Wendy as she finished chewing her weird school food. "Umm, I guess."

"You pull of pigtails better than any girl I know." Wendy smiled, turning her eyes to me while still facing Bebe. "Right?"

"Are you guys gonna start lezzing out?"

"_Shut up, Kenny_. Hey, would you guys wanna spend the night at my house this weekend?" She suddenly looks bright-eyed. "We can do hair and stuff!"

"Geez, Wendy, are we in fifth grade again?" Heather asks. She always has some bitchy comment.

"If you don't want to come then don't come." Wendy snaps back. "What about you, Bebe?"

"Umm…I'm kind of b—"

"Great! Marjy?"

"Uhh—"

"This'll be so much fun!" She squeezes her fists up near her chest, bouncing in her seat slightly.

Heather sighs. "I'll come, I'm just not gonna play no truth or dare."

"Party pooper."

"Me, too?" Milly's smiling, her chin resting in her elbow. "We haven't had a sleep over since junior high."

"I wanna come!"

Bebe punches Kenny in the arm.

--

Clyde and Marjorine were sitting on a cement parking space marker in front of McDonalds, dipping a shared box of fries into a shared strawberry milkshake sitting between them. Marjorine was starting to notice a slight change in the way her clothes fit her since hanging out with Clyde—she reasoned that there was no real problem in putting on a few pounds, to add more softness to her figure. Thin women aren't compared to "ten year old boys" by chubby chasers for no reason.

"Whatever happened to Cartman?" Marjorine asked, rubbing her greasy hands off on one another, sending a small shower of salt to the snowy ground of the parking lot.

"Cartman? He's around. He has a different lunch period than us."

"I haven't seen him in the halls. Has he lost any weight?"

Clyde snorted. "No. It's Cartman. Same old Cartman. Why?"

"Just curious." She picks up the shake and dips it back into her mouth.

"What about Craig and those guys? Have you seen them yet?"

Marjorine bites her chapped lip; covering it in strawberry-flavored saliva. "Not Token. I see Craig and Tweek around sometimes. Are they, uh…" She looks into Clyde's eyes, trying to telepathically finish her sentence. "…together?"

"Y'know, nobody can figure that out." He shrugs. "Craig's dated a few girls, and Tweek was Lizzy's bitch for a while in junior high—oh, have you seen Lizzy? She's gay now, she's awesome, you'll have to meet her—but they were never really…they never fit together with whatever girl very well. Y'know?" She nods. "Kyle—nobody gets him, either. I mean, he could get any girl in this school if he wanted, but he's never even had a girlfriend."

Marjorine was finding a guilty pleasure in the gossip. "Man, there's a lot of gay kids in South Park."

Clyde wiggles his eyebrows in a manner that doesn't suit him. "And a tranny."

Marjorine tries to look angry, but Clyde's expression is too stupid for her to keep a straight face through—she puts her face in her knees and laughs hard.

"Your—face!" She explains, breathing heavily, at Clyde triumphantly jams a small handful of fries into his mouth.

"So, you want to go see if Cartman's home?"

"Really? Uh—yeah, sure!"

She puts the nearly empty fry box into the paper bag and puts the lid and straw back into the cup as Clyde stands and stretches, looking up the street at the traffic threaded between the various buildings.

A/N: Thought I gave up, eh? Well you thought LOGICALLY. –dork- Naw, this captain plans to go down with her muthafuckin' ship. Aaaaand I refuse to stop switching tenses. In the same way a cripple refuses to walk. I can keep trying, but I'm just gonna keep falling down. Man I am a whiz with metaphors tonight! Umm I started using "her" instead of "him"—y'all are right, it's a lot more natural and, uh, politically correct and whatever. Oh, if you're into boys dressing as girls, check out Sarah by J.T. Leroy—it may or may not be the reason I'm updating. LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE IS LONG.


	6. Like Dorothy

AN: Went back and changed pronouns. Badly.

--

Four minutes into Cartman's laughter, Marjorine had to interject.

"Eric, it's cold out here."

"Just—just a second." He leaned on his knees, breathing heavily between the residual gasps of laughter that were beginning to fade. Clyde had, at first, been straight-faced, then giggled along for a few seconds, then fell back into impatience, and just now joined in again.

"It's been not funny for so long it's funny." He explained, grinning,

"You guys are jerks." Marjorine grunted, pressing her back against the doorframe to squeeze past Cartman's bulk.

She stood and surveyed the room. It had the look of one that was cleaned and trashed in a rapid rhythm; couch, side tables, big TV with Tivo, empty pop cans, half empty bag of Cheesy Poofs laying open on the floor, the dust scattered loosely around the clean carpet.

The two boys followed, both giggling a little.

"So you're a lady now?" Cartman asked.

Somehow she felt she was already getting used to explaining. "Kind of."

"I thought you were dead."

"Why?"

Cartman gave a fluid shrug before plopping back down on the couch.

Marjorine found Clyde's description to not be 100% accurate; although Cartman's weight still stood head and shoulders over any other South Park student, he had at least managed to become taller than he was wide. And as far as obesity went, there were those who carried weight like a disease, and those that possessed it more like a personality. She was possibly influenced by knowing him as the semi-cute little porker he'd been "Back Then, but he seemed to fit into the latter category.

She plopped down beside him and stared at the paused screen, Clyde following.

"So…you're not interested in…like…interrogating me?" She asked tentatively, fiddling with the hem of her skirt and staring wide-eyed at their host.

Cartman gave a loud half-sigh half-grunt, throwing his arms up slightly. "For God's sake, just cuz you're DRESSED like a girl doesn't mean you have to GAB like a girl, faggot."

It was a negative comment, obviously, but somehow, it felt…good. Like somehow, being with Cartman—who hadn't changed on the inside at all—and being a girl, like this was her life—really, really her life, and not just something she was trying to fool everyone into. Like this was _possible_.

"It's Marjorine now."

"Mm no. I think it's still Faggot."

Yeah. Good.

--

"Wow, you've really become a social butterfly, haven't you?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that, really, but yeah, better than I expected!"

"Oh, come on, you've only been going to school for a week and you've been invited to a party already?" Dr. Kata gave her an affectionately cynical look, scribbling a little on her yellow pad.

Marjorine felt it was sort of a half-victory, considering how indiscriminating Wendy's charity was, but it was a half-full victory.

Still, life was pretty good. She found, in her unhealthy way, she liked Cartman as much as she ever had, and was looking forward to seeing him again. He and Clyde were comfortingly honest and blunt, although in different ways. She felt a small clique forming. Heck, Back Then, she'd been lucky to be on the fringe of one group at a time for longer than a couple weeks or so, and here she was on the fringe of one and the heart of another!

"Still…kinda…I dunno, Bebe's really bothering me."

"Is she picking on you or something?" Her calm voice was filled with genuine concern.

"No. She just doesn't like me. It's really…lonely. I wanna know why, at least."

"Why don't you ask her?"

Marjorine bit the side of her lip, trying to think up an excuse, and had time to scan the entire ceiling before answering, "Um, okay, I guess I will?"

"Great! I am so proud of you, Leopold."

She felt so _loved_.

--

History the next day, Marjorine opened to a fresh sheet of notebook paper.

_Hi Bebe!_

_About the other day—I really didn't mean to offend you! I should have been more careful with my words. Anyway, I'm probably being paranoid, but even before then, again, I'm really sorry, I kind of get the impression you didn't like me. If I did something before then to make you mad, or make you not like me, I'm sorry, and can you tell me what it was so I know not to do it again? I really like you, and I want to be friends!_

_Love, Marjorine_

She maybe embellished the truth a little bit; the only feeling she got out of Bebe was a little bit of fear. It was just kind of like having a bit of song lyric stuck in your head, but not knowing what song it was. She needed to fix it, or at least figure it out.

She slipped the folded paper over to Bebe's desk with a completely sincere smile, and tried not to watch as she lazily scanned over the words. After a shorter amount of time then she'd expected, Bebe folded the paper into a small square and chucked it into the trash can a few feet ahead of her, at the front of the classroom. It bounced off the wall and in. She didn't show any emotion as she reopened her book.

The bell rang, and the teacher bustled into the room.

She wanted to cry.

--

Clyde was good for telling stories to because he was blunt, but bad because he was dumb. Cartman was good for telling stories to because he was blunt and smart, but bad because he was mean. Or good because he was mean.

Whatever. She found Cartman, bribed him with homemade cookies, called her mom, and followed him out to his car. His mom had given it to him rather than sell it when her boyfriend—or one of her clients, Cartman referred to them all as her boyfriends, it was a little sad—bought her a nice new one.

She got to the part about the one-sided fight in the bathroom before Cartman showed any sign he was listening.

"Bebe's not a dyke."

Marjorine's jaw was still open, and she didn't bother to close it, or lower her hands, which she had been talking with her miniature rage. "What?"

"Bebe's _not_ a dyke." He flipped the turn signal as he rolled onto her street.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean!? She likes cock! She loves it!" He stopped in front of her house. "Okay now get out. And you better have those cookies tomorrow or I'll twist your nuts off."

"Wait—"

"Out, bitch! I'm not missing Terrance and Phillip!"

Stunned, she unbuckled her seatbelt and practically fell out of the car. Cartman tore out.

He was a racist, sexist, generally prejudice asshole. You really couldn't take anything he said seriously.

Marjorine shrugged as she walked up the driveway to her house; she didn't want to miss Terrance and Phillip, either.

--

AN: God this story is so BORING. Cartman's hella fun to write, though. Jesus I always thought I was more like Tweek…it's a little sad and a little funny to know Cartman's the one whose mind works just like mine. Ahh…yeah. Tell me what you think? I can take critique! I'm a big girl! Especially giving me your impression of the characters, y'know, their role in the story, and what you think's gonna happen. I suck too bad to do this by myself.


	7. Natural Habitat

On Thursday, Marjorine went with her mom to the store—they agreed, kind of sadly, they didn't spend much time together since she'd started school. She didn't really feel ashamed at all to be a Mama's Girl; in her opinion, her mom was objectively awesome.

So the vague panic she felt at seeing Kenny and Stan at the glass counter that was the bakery, stealing the cookies that were free for kids twelve and under, was really irrational.

Wait…would…would they think anything about seeing her with her mom? That kid who just kind of disappeared one day's mom?

She didn't have time to worry long—a cookie hanging three quarters of the way out of his mouth, Kenny turned suddenly, as if he'd sensed her or something, and broke into a way overly excited grin. Stan looked over curiously, and although he didn't share Kenny's enthusiasm, he did look friendly.

The best she could do was totter over to them (away from her mom,) and initiate awkward conversation, unconsciously mimicking Kenny's weird expression.

"Well—well hey there!" She squeaked.

Her mom looked over, but didn't seem intent on interrupting her when she was with her friends. _Thank you, God, for blessing me with such a wonderful mother._

"Marjy!" Kenny cooed. Stan and she shared their cluelessness in his cheer.

"Uh, hey, I can't really talk right now, I gotta…shop…and stuff—"

Out of no where, a pair of toned arms were wrapped around her back, and her entire front was shoved into Kenny's thin-muscle-and-bone, slightly smelly frame—she only noticed the smell now because her face was pushed entirely into his shoulder.

Most noticeably, there was a certain…grinding.

This happened in less than a second, while Kenny said, "Aw, okay. It was nice seeing you!" And just as rough as he'd grabbed her, he threw her off, so that she had to take a few steps to steady herself.

As he and Stan walked away, maybe a little fast, she heard Stan try to be quiet as he asked, "What the hell was that?"

Her mom was at her elbow suddenly, her happy face tense and stretched over her concern over what appeared to be her child's fast and public molestation. "Were those friends from school, sweetie?"

--

She packed pajamas, a toothbrush, basic make up, her face wash, clothes for the next day, underwear, her pillow and a light blanket, her I-pod, and spent a few minutes putting her stuffed bunny in and out of her suitcase before deciding it to bury him in the bottom and assess whether or not to take him out based upon the behavior of the other girls.

Her mom dropped her off a little before five. Wendy's house was huge and gorgeous; it fit her personality perfectly. She watched the roof disappear as she got closer, rang the doorbell, which was loud and melodic through the thick door, and wished she'd packed a little less as she adjusted her overnight bag against her leg.

Wendy was grinning as she opened the door, her hair pulled back, wearing a lilac tank top and black sofies, her miniscule feet bare. Her toes were neither monkeyish nor fat. It was magical.

"Hey, sweetie! C'mon," she stepped back from the door, showing high ceilings and a moppy rug. "It's just Bebe and me so far—down here, in the basement—"

She led her into a basement lit to the point of casting oversized shadows, in which everything was either white or animal print, with an enormous TV taking up a good part of wall. Bebe sat by the glass coffee table, munching from a bowl of M'n'Ms that sat joined by other traditional sleepover food. She turned her head away from Gilmore Girls to gave an emotionless wave. Wendy looked a little skanky compared to Bebe's loose sweatshirt and sweatpants with white stripes down the side; but only comparatively.

"You didn't eat yet, did you?"

Marjorine hadn't realized she'd been so deeply immersed in observation. "What?"

"Did you eat yet?"

"Oh—uh—no—"

"Good, we're ordering pizza in a little bit. Oh, hold on." The bell rang, and Wendy showed a generous amount of thigh as she sprung suddenly to her feet and back up the stairs.

For a horrifying forty seconds, Marjorine and Bebe were completely alone. If you didn't count the people on the TV; which, she considered, you should, because they broke the awkwardness quite well.

Millie and Wendy returned together. So far, Milly was probably Marjorine's favorite girl aside from Wendy—she was possibly lacking in modesty, although none of her ego was unfounded, and it didn't interfere with her opinion of anyone else—in fact, it maybe improved it, because she didn't seem to feel like anything else with a vagina was instant competition.

"Hey Baby! Hey Marjy!"

Marjorine didn't have time to realize that two people had now referred to her as Marjy—she was too busy having her self confidence crushed as Bebe smiled, sleepily but brightly, and gave a genuinely happy-to-see-you "Hey Milly."

She set her bag down against the wall and playfully pointed at Bebe. "I brought my straightener and a bottle of roofies—I'm using the first on you, and it's up to you if I use the second."

"Oh God, do you _have_ to?" She sighed, not completely with contempt, and popped a few more M'n'Ms into her mouth.

Wendy laughed—the word mirth came to mind—and gave Marjorine instructions on how to find pop and a toilet. The other girls knew the house.

Red came after that, her shaggy bangs clipped back in a way she probably never wore at school, Annie and Heidi in the same car (Annie was in a different lunch period, and Marjorine suddenly felt she had never been a real member of the group, but just kind of someone who sat at their table, and that tonight was her opportunity to change that,) Nelly and Esther, who were apparently BFFs, and both swore a lot—Nelly through a chipped tooth, and half an hour late and grumpy, Powder, who was probably wearing her boyfriend's boxers and T-shirt.

Marjorine was one of the only girls who had come dressed like she would in public; she excused herself to the bathroom, and hesitated for a while looking at her pajamas.

Everyone else wore cloth shorts and baggy T-shirt or tank tops (or in Bebe's case, sweats; it was sad, that she kept her guard up so tightly in the private company of her friends.) She'd packed her yellow and pink plaid shorts with a matching button-up top. Turned down collar and everything. They weren't ugly, but they _stood out_. Would it be worse to sleep in her clothes or in kind of dorky pajamas?

Well, she would at least be comfier in the dorky pajamas.

When she got out, she was greeted instantly by at least two squeals; Wendy was on her like she was robbing her nest, bright eyed and grabbing her elbows. Heather and Bebe were the only girls who didn't at least smile.

"Look at how cute you are!" Wendy giggled. "Where'd you get these?"

"Um! …I don't remember." She was bright pink. Like everyone but her was connected by some sort of psychic connection, Annie and Wendy were on either side of her, posing, and there was a camera in her face. She improvised quickly—threaded her fingers together and rested her chin across her knuckles, smiling.

Girls are weird. In a good way, though.

She was spared the stress of starting a conversation when Nelly and Esther showed off their parlor trick, and the five minutes or so of double entendres that followed—Nelly was good at catching things with her mouth, as proved by Esther standing on one side of the room and throwing pretzels as Nelly stood on the other side. Marjorine thought of the chip in her tooth. At that point, Wendy's mom came down and took pizza orders, and Millie announced that she was going upstairs to get a can of pop, at which point nearly every girl shouted an order to bring down while she was up there.

Like on TV or something. It was fun, and stupid, like as soon there were no boys looking, all these girls turned into these immature, tomboyish people in comfortable clothes who ate a lot of junk food like they didn't even care.

And she was one of them.

--

By nine, they were hopped up on sugar and their close proximity to all the other girls hopped up on sugar. Heidi was the one to suggest they play truth or dare—sitting in a big, dumb circle, except for Millie, who was behind Bebe, straightening her hair.

"Okay, okay—how big is Stan?"

Wendy wrinkled her nose cutely. "You're so gross!"

"You have to answer!"

Wendy twisted her jaw, showing her bottom teeth and little, and quickly extended both hands, holding them a generous amount apart. It lasted less than a second; her face was soon pressed into her knees, probably uncomfortably, as she burst into giggles.

Wendy pointed to Bebe once she recovered. "Truth or Dare?"

Bebe looked scared. She visibly weighed the options, then gave a tentative, "Dare?"

She pulled Red into a huddle—probably only because she was on her side—and pulled away with a grin on her face. "Kiss Marjorine. On the forehead or something."

It was probably just Wendy and Bebe and her, but something tightened. The other girls were still talking a little on their own, Millie did the last piece of Bebe's hair, while they waited with electricity running into them from the floor.

"No."

It loosened and released.

"No?"

"I don't want to."

Now the girls glanced warily, eyes wide, not daring to look at any one face for longer than possible. Conversation faded.

"Aw, come on, Bebe, I dared you." The only reason her voice sounded so fake was because it was so out of place; chiding and sweet in a situation leaden with poison.

"I'm not going to do it."

"What's the big deal?"

Marjorine looked down at her feet, crossed Indian-style.

"I don't…like Marjorine."

There it was.

Out there, for everyone—open and sure and eight thousand pounds.

Marjorine had been disliked before. A lot, actually—she'd been hated. But this was…

Her eyes got hot again.

She rushed to the bathroom before anyone could say anything else.

--

She sat against the door for a while, trying to be quiet but kind of failing—it was a loud, hot kind of crying, and she couldn't change that. She heard people whispering, hissing a little, obviously accusing and threatening. It helped a little, to at least know they cared. Bebe didn't, though.

Eventually, someone gently rapped on the door. "Marjorine?" Wendy's voice lilted.

She didn't really want to talk—she could either lie, which would be no comfort whatsoever, or tell the truth, which she already knew. "Go away." She whimpered.

"Marjy, I just wanna talk."

"I don't want to!"

"At least come out of the bathroom?"

"No!"

"Marjorine, she didn't mean it."

That was a lie.

While she had cried, she'd thought it over—Bebe disliking her cut so deep because no one had ever disliked her before.

No, it'd always been something about her—some trait, something she did, or had done, some flaw in her personality, something she could, by some stretch of the imagination, work at to fix, to change.

Bebe disliked—probably hated—her. Just _her_. And she couldn't fake her way out of it, or do anything else about it. Bebe hated Marjorine. It was written in the freaking stars or something.

A fresh breach of sobs broke loudly from her lungs.

"Marjy? Honey? Do you wanna call your mom?"

She kept using her name. "Okay."

She stood up opened the door a little. There was some muttering, and a small hand reached in and handed the portable phone. She sat on the closed toilet seat to dial the number.

The blank green-grey low-tech screen stared, open, before her. Maybe a little tired from crying so hard, she didn't want to mess it up with her ugly home number. Her thumbs worked more than her mind did.

His dad answered the phone, before relaying it to his son.

"'Lo?" Clyde's voice, scratchy—the reception was crap down there—filled her ear, and sort of filled all the cracks in her mental state. Her voice barely crackled and bubbled at all.

"Can I stay with you tonight?"

"Are you okay?" He really sounded worried.

"Um…can you just pick me up? I'm…I'm at Wendy's."

"Why—"

"Wendy Testaberger's."

"Oh. Yeah—gimme the address, I'll be right there, okay?"

--

When the doorbell finally rang, Marjorine looked in the mirror critically—her eyes were red and puffy, and the make up had washed away, showing the bags that were always there, but almost always concealed.

Annie knocked on the door, carefully telling her someone was there to pick her up—they were probably a little surprised to see Clyde Donovan instead of a middle-aged woman. She breathed deeply, and emerged.

The energy'd been destroyed—most of them were crowded around the TV, watching some movie, and conspicuously trying to not look at her. Bebe was gone. Annie went over to the other girls, while Wendy grabbed her things for her and walked her upstairs.

"Look," she explained as they mounted the stairs, "Bebe's a really, really sweet girl. She just has a few little issues. It's not her fault. And it's even less _your_ fault. Don't take it personally—I swear, when she gets to know you, she'll love you. Everyone else does—they seriously do, we were all really worried about you." Clyde was standing in the doorway, hands behind his back, staring around the room with the same wonder she had a few hours ago. Wendy smiled at him weakly, handed Marjorine her bag, and hugged her tightly. "Feel better."

"Ready?" Clyde asked.

She nodded, and followed Clyde out the door to his dad's suburban, waving at Wendy as she closed the door.

--

AN: Ahah, in the interest of keeping things movin' on forward at a healthy pace, I'm moving some things up. Things that were kinda meant to happen way…wayyy into the story. Which obviously means they won't be as good, but you can't have your god damned cake and eat it too, you ungrateful whores! –cough- I wrote this in the same sitting as that other chapter, but I dunno why, I was ascared to post it. Really I'm so confused as to why. It's not THAT awful. –shrug- And the next one's partially written. And partially sexy! In…not the way you probably think.


	8. Putrescine and Fructose

On the drive home, she moved past crying over Bebe, and was now crying over how badly she'd overreacted—if tonight was an initiation, she'd failed. Hard. Fantasies of hearing Bebe say those four words again, and replying with something clever that got all the girls laughing—hell, even Bebe, and then they would all be best friends and she could stay the night and eat donuts the next morning and at school on Monday she'd wave to all her new friends in the hall, and they'd exchange numbers and talk on the phone—and that just got her crying again.

Clyde looked away from the road fairly often to check her face, grimacing. The radio played Top 40 softly, turning aggressive hip hop songs into soothing little beat bursts.

The lights were off when they pulled in--no one over the age of twenty really stayed up past eight in South Park. Her legs broke out in sharp goosebumps as she stumbled out the high door and skittered over the driveway and to the front door, which he informed her was unlocked.

God was merciful, making crying such an exhausting effort. Clyde took her stuff upstairs as she poured herself a huge glass of orange juice. She carried it in both hands up to his room.

When she got through the door, Clyde was snuggled up in the bed, laying blissfully on his side with his index and middle finger inserted shallowly into his mouth. There was, at first, a wave of affection because he looked so darn cute and innocent, and another, because he'd gotten so close to falling asleep in seconds.

She felt bad to disturb him by asking, "Where'm I supposed to sleep?"

He didn't open his eyes; just scooted a little closer to the wall, leaving more than half of the mattress open.

"I can't sleep with you." She said, slightly surprised that it wasn't obvious.

"Why?" He'd given up the momentum of sleep to look at her, fingers out of his mouth to allow it room to pout.

"I'm a girl."

She should've been insulted by the look her gave her—one eyebrow lowered, the other raised, mouth pulled slightly to the side. She should've noticed the staggering political incorrectness of his sleepily mumbled, "I don't like girls. I like tits and vaginas. Neither of which you have." Really, all in all, she shouldn't have crawled into bed with him, like she had. But it looked so comfy, and she was so tired.

She chugged half the orange juice, set the cup on the bedside table, shut off the light, and got under his worn comforter.

And she probably should've done something about Clyde, half asleep again, scooting automatically toward her and throwing one soft arm over her, effectively spooning her. But he was warm.

--

The moment the sun gets through the one window, half shrouded behind his computer monitor, she's awake. Clyde's snoring, not unpleasantly, looking blissfully stupid with his mouth open and grinning. She was such a light sleeper, it was amazing he hadn't woken her up.

At first, she intends to get back to sleep—it's ridiculously warm and soft under the blanket, Clyde's ridiculously warm and soft—but she adjusts her legs slightly, and feels her thighs unstick from one another.

Oh hamburgers.

Marjorine had a slight…issue. In her sleep. Not more than once every two or three weeks, once a month, really, and she was always quick to throw the sheets into the washer before anyone noticed.

It was probably because she never really…you know…touched down there. Heck, she peed sitting down, more so that she wouldn't have to acknowledge the stupid thing than because it's what girls were supposed to do. Not that she hated her fireman, it just held her back, in a lot of ways.

Marjorine had spectacular dream sex, and had the endurance to match.

She pulled the comforter off of her lap. There was junk on her legs, on her shorts, on the blanket, and on the sheets—last night'd been a doozy. Cringing, she did her best not to drag her butt through it as she slid out. Her legs made a gross, wet sound as they came completely separated, then brushed together, and came apart again.

"Hamburgers," she mumbled from her new vantage point.

Meanwhile, countless girls across America were waking to find they'd started their period in the night, messing up a perfectly good bed set and underwear.

The obvious solution; get everything into the washer before Clyde woke up. The obvious problem; Clyde was _on them_. Plus she could hear noises downstairs; one of his parents, or both. Not the best situation for wandering around, arms laden with cum-soaked laundry, in search of the laundry room—or, really, waiting naked from the waist down while it went.

She stood, her toes turned inward, wringing her hands a little. Well…Clyde would probably be asleep for a while longer. He was the type to sleep in. Meanwhile she didn't have to be all sticky and gross. She turned back to the low, orange wood dresser and pulled out the top left drawer—socks—the top right—here it was, an assortment of boxer-briefs and boxers, all in plaid, all in various cool hues. She plucked out a top pair, shut the drawer as gently s she could, and snuck out the door, across the hall, and into the bathroom.

It was amazingly refreshing to get off the crusted shorts and underwear, and better still to wipe down her crotch and legs with the washcloth from the shower, wet in the sink, until she felt rosy and immaculate by comparison. Pulling on the thin, sterile boxers was the last step to renewing her confidence in the situation, enough so that she could form an iffy plan—simply to cover the mess with the blanket, hope Clyde didn't disturb it while getting up, distract him with something, then run off to do her duty.

Casually, she returned to the room, to find Clyde sitting up in bed, staring quizzically at his matted sheets.

She froze in the doorway. Clyde looked up at her, lip jutted out, and, upon seeing her change in clothes, inquired, "So I guess you did this? Thank God, I was worried I—uh, never mind."

Marjorine took in his course of action, eyes set on his wonderful, lazy, flippant, careless, forgiving, accepting, wonderful, stupid face, and sighed, long and hard, in relief.

"I love you, Clyde."

He stared at her openly with wide brown eyes.

They gathered the mess, took it together to the downstairs laundry room, dumped the sheets and her clothes into the washer, and sat against the wall to wait and guard the dirty comforter.

Marjorine looked toward Clyde to find him with the side of his index finger in his mouth. He took it out promptly, blushing slightly.

"So what's up with your ear?"

"Wha?" Her hand shot to her right lobe defensively, fingering the soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger. A puffed, white line covered what had obviously once been a notch, probably a bloody one. "Oh—I used to have my ears pierced. I caught it on something."

"Ow."

"Yeah."

The washer's insides sloshed loudly to fill the awkward silence.

"So what'd you dream about?"

Marjorine's thought process momentarily stumbled due to the extreme tactlessness and invasiveness of the question. Clyde never ceased to shock her.

"I—I don't _remember_." She snapped—honestly, she didn't. It never really occurred to her that it mattered, and given that she had never put a special effort forward to remember her dreams, she never did.

"Was it like, a specific person? Or just general sex?"

"What?"

"Y'know, was it someone you know, from real life or something, or just sort of a general…I dunno, stand-in kind of g—guy."

"I told you, I don't remember. Do you guys have Special K?"

"Uh, no. We have Coco Puffs." He shrugged, the motion rendered awkward with the wall inhibiting the movement of his shoulder blades.

Marjorine sighed. She felt vaguely greasy and ugly—she wanted a shower, clean clothes, and some kind of solitude. She wanted her bunny from her bag, without Clyde teasing her, and she wanted her normal cereal. She kind of wanted her mom.

"When this is done, can you just take me home?"

Clyde's face fell. "Uh, yeah, sure—are you mad at me?"

"What? No, I'm not mad at you, I'm just…emotionally drained. And smelly."

His head cocked cutely. "Um…okay. Do you want Coco Puffs?"

"I'm good."

---

Dr. Kata leaned forward 'til her chin was almost between her knees, feet spread on the floor before the easy chair. "Well, at least you know now."

"No I don't!" Marjorine hugged the pillow on her lap tightly to her chest, frustrated. "Not knowing why she doesn't like me is what's driving me crazy!"

"Is it really that bad for one person to dislike you? I mean, you're making a pretty big fuss over _one person_."

Marjorine leaned back on the couch, pouting. Nobody understood her.

--

AN: The reason nobody understand Marjypants; _she's not making sense_. Um there is one VERY sexy and VERY gross part in here, but you pretty much have to be a ninja to find it, cuz I sucks the balls. Tell me if you see it? And..uh…not sure why Marjy chose to wear Clyde's boxers instead of her own clothes, which she would've had with her, y'know, in the bag she packed for Wendy's. That's not character development, that's a mistake I caught and was too lazy to fix. This chapter probably kinda sucks. …Sorry. It's like five. Oh shits.


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